


5 Cats Javert Brought Home and the 1 Valjean Gave Him

by oberynmartell



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cats, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 11:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oberynmartell/pseuds/oberynmartell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times did Javert bring a cat home with him, and one time, a cat was given to him by Valjean. (5+1 Things)</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 Cats Javert Brought Home and the 1 Valjean Gave Him

**Javert and His Cats**

**1\. Milou**

Javert was late.

When applied to anybody else this was not a startling occurrence, but for a man such as Javert, nothing could have deviated more from his ordinary habits. Valjean sat in the kitchen, fingers drumming on the wooden table upon which two cups of tea sat; one half-empty, the other untouched. Never, in all the time of their relationship, had this happened before, and Valjean simply did not know what to do, so he remained where he was, eyes burning into the door, waiting for it to open. He must have been dozing off, for when a knock resonated from the other side of said door, he started, lurching forward for the handle.

“Javert where the hell-“

The sight in front of him was truly one he had never expected to see. The inspector stood at the doorstep, a furry, ginger feline stretched across his chest, its head resting on his broad shoulder. Javert smiled, openly and casually, as if the cat was radiating happiness. Valjean had only ever seen him let his guard down so a few times before.

“A stray” He said, as if it completely explained the matter. The animal in question purred happily in his arms, its tail curling around the crook of the inspector’s elbow “I found him outside an inn, he is cold and starving”

“And yet when I give charity to  _people_ who are cold and starving, you scold me” Valjean pointed out, resting a hand on the inspector’s shoulder when he attempted to enter the house.

“It is a mere cat, Jean, please” Javert asked, eyes light under the glow of the streetlamps. Valjean sighed and stepped back, granting him entrance. When Javert called him by his first name, his resistance always seemed to vanish in an instant.

“Are you sure it-“

“He”

“Are you sure  _he_ does not have an owner?” Valjean repeated, closing the door and resting his back against it. Javert carried the cat to the table and sit it on it, then reached for the scraps of meat on the counter top.

“And if he does? Such owners do not deserve a cat they cannot look after correctly” He nodded, voice as sure as if he was talking of a criminal’s sentencing. When he handed the cat a plateful of meat, the animal meowed almost in gratitude and began to eat quickly, its little pink tongue darting out to claim the small chunks of food. Valjean’s eyes turned to Javert. He had never seen the man act so – his eyes were soft and his mouth curled at the edges in the slightest of smiles. He stroked the cat absent-mindedly and watched it eat.

“And does he have a name?”

“Milou” Came Javert’s immediate reply. Valjean would not be surprised to learn the man had thought of it on the walk home.

 

**2\. Adela**

On a Saturday evening, when the sun was setting and the air was still warm and buzzing from another day of life and activity in the streets of Paris, Javert and Valjean would take a walk together passed the quiet buildings and empty squares. It had become a habit, one both men enjoyed and could not do without. They talked, of course, but if ever the stopped speaking for a while, the silence was not uncomfortable but instead peaceful, as if to merely be in one another’s presence was enough. Javert would be at his most affectionate and open at this time, as it was after another hard week’s police work, and he was too tired to put on any façade for those who may have been watching. Sometimes, if the week had been truly taxing, and Javert had not slept due to nightmares (a fairly regular occurrence) Valjean could get him to hold hands with him. It was a small gesture, but out in the open, even with the lack of crowds, it was still a fairly bold and significant statement, something Javert would not take a moment to consider in his more active states.

It was on one such evening, when Javert’s hand was in his, that Valjean spotted half a dozen men approaching them. He quickly separated their hands, which prompted Javert to snap to attention. The inspector’s eyes once again grew cold and searching, seeking for the disturbance, and when his eyes fell on the advancing group, he squared his jaw and flattened the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Should we cross the street?” Valjean asked, as the details of the men’s faces began to grow into focus as they grew closer.

“No, we stand our ground” Javert answered, voice clipped and powerful, like that he wore for work. The men opposite them were mostly tall, with rat-like faces and shining eyes like those of beetles.

“Good evening, dear inspector” One of them cawed, and a small murmur of laughter rippled through the group like a wave on the shore.

“Any loose change on you, perhaps?” Another called, and then another, stepping forward from the back, looked Javert up from the tips of his feet to the cool level of his eyes.

“And isn’t the world full of coincidences…” He hissed “The very inspector who locked away one of my women, just last week”

From this, Valjean guessed the man ran a brothel. Sensing trouble, he curled his palms into fists. Javert, he noted, had done the same, except one of his hands had grasped the truncheon by his side.

“The prostitute in question was arrested for killing a man, if you remember correctly” The inspector replied, voice curt and level “She received punishment, as punishment was deserved”

The brothel-owner nodded as if absorbing each of these words, but his face looked far from understanding. He flashed a metal-toothed grin at the two men.

“Then this shall be yours!”

With the strength of a horse, the man swung for Javert, hitting him square in the jaw, and with that the crowd erupted. Valjean pounced, knocking one man straight to the ground while another leaped on to him. From the corner of his eye he spotted Javert swinging his truncheon with the speed and agility that a lion does with its teeth. A blow landed in Valjean’s gut, winding him, and with another to his face he hit the ground on his knees, but as he glanced upwards, the flash of Javert’s grey coat told him the attacker had been apprehended, and with a swing to the right, Valjean grabbed the collar of the last man still to be standing.

“Please!” The thug begged, hands clasped as if in prayer “Let me go!”

Valjean’s hand began to loosen its grip on the shirt, but just as he did so, the man lurched forward, fist flailing, and Valjean knocked him down with a fierce strike to the head.

“Javert!” He turned to spot the inspector standing some distance off, placing his hat back upon his head. A trickle of blood was running from his mouth and from his eyebrow, but Valjean figured he looked much the same. He was about to go over to the inspector when the man darted forward.

“Look out!”

He snapped round, fists at the ready, but instead the only thing he saw was a small, fluffy brown cat, sat on a barrel beside the wall. Behind him, Javert chuckled.

“It appears the danger is over” The inspector grinned, striding forward and lifting the kitten in one large hand. The animal closed it eyes and rested its head against his thumb, as if his palm was a perfect place to sleep.

“I know what you’re thinking, Javert” Valjean sighed, leaning back against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“And if you are correct, would the answer be yes?” The inspector replied, arm outstretched as if to place the kitten closer to Valjean would alter his opinion dramatically. Valjean eyed the cat, then Javert, then the cat again.

“If you so wish it” He decided at last, rolling his eyes.

Throughout the walk back home, Javert decided on the name ‘Adela’.

 

**3\. Louis**

The scratching began a week ago. Javert found it hard to sleep on the best of nights, so when the noise started he was quickly awoken. A branch scraping against the bedroom window, perhaps, or a faulty wheel squeaking on a passing chart. Valjean’s strong, warm arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him into the centre of the bed, and he did nothing to protest, sinking into the embrace, face inches from Valjean’s.

“Are you ok?” The other man asked, a strand of grey-flecked hair falling into his eyes. Javert nodded and sighed.

“Just a noise”

As if by Javert’s words, the noise began anew, an incessant scratching on glass. He considered getting out of bed and going to check what the offending sound was, but the warmth of Valjean’s skin and the softness of the sheets discouraged him, and soon he was asleep again.

A few days later, the scratching started again, and throughout the night, no matter how relaxed Javert became, he simply could not get to sleep. And so, after a week of bad nights, he gave up. Swinging his legs out the bed and leaving Valjean to his deep slumber, he dragged his feet into the kitchen and looked around, checking every door, every window, anything where the noise may be coming from, and soon found a lead.

The window next to the kitchen door was small, just above the water taps, and was there mainly for them to see visitors before they reached the door. However, now, in the dead of night, a small black figure was lurking just outside the glass, moving swiftly from side to side, as if attempting to see in. The shape moved and touched the window, and the scratching noise sounded through the room like a whisper. Javert picked up a knife on the nearby table, and with the stealthy, graceful movements of one who has faced many criminals, the inspector crossed the room in long, powerful strides and pushed open the window.

Instead of being met by a burglar, a criminal or the like, Javert came across only a small cat. It was a soft grey, fur sticking out in random directions like blades of untamed grass, and large, shining green eyes. It flinched away at Javert’s sudden movements, but when it seemed no danger would befall it, the feline stretched forward and brushed up against Javert’s hand, still clenched around the knife. The inspector smiled - although no one was around to see it save the small animal – and pulled the kitten inside the house, closing the window behind it.

Valjean woke lazily, but immediately knew something was wrong. A quick glance over his shoulder told him Javert was not in bed with him, and he sat up, pulling on a pair of trousers.

“Relax, Jean” Came Javert deep voice from the darkness, and he emerged, a small, mewling cat lounged across his bicep. Even from the distance, Valjean could see the animal’s eyes glint like beautiful jewels in the light cast from the window, and he relaxed back into the bed with a sigh.

“I assume you’ve already thought of a name, so there’s no point in trying to dissuade you is there?”

“You are correct, on both accounts” Javert replied with a chuckle, settling back down into the bed and placing the cat upon the sheets in between them “Louis, I think”

“A nice name” Valjean answered, and then, sensing the triumph on Javert’s features, he turned away and closed his eyes once more “Now, if you do not mind, I’d like to get some sleep”

 

**4\. Athena**

Arguments were few between Valjean and Javert, but when they occurred, it was as if hellfire had descended upon the house. This particular time, it had been over Cosette’s wedding. Valjean had received the invitation a week ago, two of them in a small pink envelope, one for Valjean and one for Javert. Of course, the inspector had instantly refused, believing that nobody in their right minds would want a man such as him at their party, and that he hated such social interactions anyway. Valjean had done everything to try to make him change his mind, and now, the only solution he had left was to shout at the man.

“I’m not going! I am a  _grown man_ and I can make my own choices!” Javert roared, slamming yet another door which Valjean instantly opened again, storming into the room in the younger man’s wake.

“A grown man does not act so  _childish!”_

“And you would know?! You are acting more like a child than I!”

“Cosette wants you to go, I want you to go, would it really be that difficult for you to just  _attend!?”_ Valjean snapped back, pinching his temples as he felt the blooming of a sharp headache.

“I’m not having this discussion with you, my decision is final!”

“I persuaded you to get down from that bridge, Javert,  _and I can persuade you to go to this wedding!”_

_“You have no power over me, 2460-“_

The answer was cut short in realization but not quite quick enough so that Valjean did not know what he almost said. As Javert slammed the front door behind him, coat whisking behind him, the very walls of the house seemed to shudder from the force, and Valjean fell back into his chair. He must have stayed like that for a while, legs outstretched in front of him, fingers at his forehead, because he felt the familiar brush of fur against his leg, and looked down to see Adela curled up beside him, her body rising and falling in the soft rhythm of docile breathing. As Valjean watched the soothing motion, he too felt the slipping away of tension, and a dull calmness washed over him like waves of sea. He glanced at the door, and with a sigh, realised Javert would not be back for quite a while.

Outside, in the cold, winter streets of Paris, Javert had found warmth in a tavern, the closest one to his home, and now sat with a whisky at a table far off from the main activity in the drinking place. His first drink had barely passed his lips when he heard the commotion from the stairs beside him.

“Get out of my  _way!_ Damn cat!” A gruff voice growled, and a slender, tabby feline rushed down the stairs, faster than Javert’s eyes could follow, and hid, trembling, underneath his table. The inspector discreetly slid a hand off the chair and smoothed its head in small, comforting motions, and soon the cat relaxed under his touch. The bar-keep, presumably the owner of the voice he had heard, and the one who had kicked the poor animal under the table, came trudging down the steps, a pot of plates in his hands. He smiled at the inspector upon spotting him, revealing an array of yellow, rotting teeth, like ancient gravestones in a cemetery. The smile was forced of course, the quick, glancing eyes that darted over the room suggested that some kind of illegal activity was going on in the tavern, and Javert sincerely hoped it wasn’t the drink.

“Good evening, Inspector” He chuckled jovially. Javert paused for a moment to consider just how many times he had heard those words, and how many men who said them were good, genuine folk, with nothing to hide and no hidden motive. The number, he knew, was very little.

“Evening” Javert huffed back, glancing at the wide, watery eyes of the animal by his hand.

“That cat not doing you any bother is it? I might as well shoot the thing, causes me more trouble than it’s worth” The barman replied bitterly, prodding the cat with his toe. It trembled against Javert’s fingers. For a moment, he hesitated in his reply, and the man half-turned away. Valjean wouldn’t approve of another cat, he knew, but then, an added thought –  _I don’t have to do what Valjean wants me to do._ The thought was childish, he knew, like a toddler rebelling against its parent for the sake of freedom, but he knew this cat was not safe, and it was that, he decided, that made him call the barman back.

“I shall take the cat, if it is such an inconvenience for you” He said, eyes still cold when the fell upon the man.

The barkeep seemed perplexed for a second, and then a grimy smile split across his face.

“Sure, it is all yours inspector, and for that, you need not pay me for that drink of yours!” He answered, nodding enthusiastically, before a woman from the other end of the room called for him, and he was off, plates clattering in his hands. Javert tucked the bottle into one of the deep pockets of his coat, and picked up the cat in the other. The animal made no motion of struggle, and instead sank into his arms. Javert had never understood it, this attraction cats had to him. Whereas humans – save Valjean – seemed put-off by his presence, cats appeared naturally drawn to him, as if he was some source of comfort to them. Perhaps it was because, like Valjean, cats had no crimes or secrets to conceal from him. The thought warmed his stomach, although it could well have been the whisky, and he thought of Valjean, and of Cosette. Surely it would not hurt, just to be present at her wedding. She was, of course, the closest to family Valjean had, and if it would please the two of them for him to be there, what real objection did he have? There was little Javert would not do to make Valjean happy.

By the time Javert crossed the few roads that led home, he had finished the bottle of whisky, and named, in his haze of thoughts, the cat that was now fast asleep in his arms. When he opened the door to find Valjean asleep in the chair by the kitchen table, he smiled to himself, and set the cat upon the floor, watching with amusement as it crossed the room and leaped straight onto Valjean’s lap, falling once again into a deep sleep. Javert grabbed a scrap of paper and left it beside Valjean’s slumbering form on the table, before heading upstairs. It read: ‘She’s called Athena’.

 

**5\. Alistir**

The bridge near Pont Au Change, where Javert had almost jumped from before Valjean had dissuaded him, had not been walked across by the inspector since that day. He avoided the area entirely, even if was just to pass by, and altered any routes that would take him past or across this bridge. That was, until Valjean found out. It had taken weeks of persuasion before he finally managed to convince the inspector to go back there, but he had achieved it, and now, on a cold November evening, when the rest of Paris was asleep, the two men stood, only one of them looking down into the black, swirling waters below. Javert had his eyes closed and his hands flat against the concrete side, his breathing heavy, shoulders rising and falling too fast for a calm man. Valjean stood behind him, a comforting hand on the strong curve of his back.

“I cannot do this” Javert growled, turning away from the waters, but Valjean stood like a boulder in his way, hands now on his sides, faces inches from one another.

“You are a strong man, Javert, do not doubt yourself” He urged, motioning with his eyes over at the river below. Javert turned slowly, and with the look of a man who is turning to face a demon, he stared down into the dark abyss of the water, flecked with white where waves crossed and crashed against the sides.

“I told you” Valjean whispered, pulling Javert close. The inspector did not pull away from the touch, and his hand came round to hold Valjean’s wrist in a sign of affection, not fear. Something brushed against his leg, s soft and delicate as the wind, but when he looked down he was instead met with the sight of a noble-looking cat, with smooth, tiger-like fur and glittering amber eyes. It looked up at him with the same perplexed expression as Javert did it, and from somewhere close to his ear, he heard Valjean chuckle.

“God must be rewarding you for your courage, Javert, who are we to refuse this gift?”

Javert turned to him, eyebrow raised.

“I have never seen you so accepting of a new cat” The inspector looked down at the animal again, and then back to his lover’s face “He reminds me of you, somewhat, I must say”

“How so?” The convict mused, his chest against Javert’s shoulder.

“The eyes, the softness of fur… Of course, you never did have the ‘aristocrat’ look”

Valjean looked at him with a mock-scandalised expression and lifted the cat up, resting it in the crook of his arm.

“Well for that  _rude_ comment, I believe I shall carry Alistir home!” He laughed, striding off away from him.

“And who said you could name him?” Javert called back, his long legs easily keeping up.

“Well, I believe as a member of the  _aristocracy,_ I am granted that decision!”

 

**1\. Javert**

As Javert’s eyes flickered open, he was met with the startling sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, bathing the bed in a beautiful glow, a pure white that contrasted stunningly against his tanned skin. He turned, expecting to find the man whom he loved lounged beside him, but the covers were thrown back and that side was cold.

“Jean?” He called out to the hallway outside the room, propping himself up on his arms, but the only noise that replied with a scuffling and a door slamming shut “Valjean?”

“One minute!” The convict replied, and then, bursting into the room, he collapsed upon the bed, an bundle of objects in his hands “Happy Birthday, Javert!”

The inspector frowned for a moment, before realising that yes, indeed today was his birthday. He had never thought it an occasion to celebrate, though it seemed that Valjean had other plans.

“This” He gestured to the bundle of objects, making out a few cards, a pen and a box “Is all for me?”

“Of course! I  _have_ become quite accustomed to celebrating birthdays, seeing as I always spoilt Cosette on hers.

“You spoil that child every day of the week, Jean” Javert replied with a chuckle, pulling the other man close.

“Oh, shut up and open your gift!”

The box was placed on his lap, and with swift yet cautious hands, Javert pulled open the ribbon, and there, inside the box, sat a little black kitten. It furs was feather-soft and dark as Javert’s own hair, and its eyes were almost exactly the same shade of dark, chesnut brown.

“I get to name this one” Valjean insisted “And of course, what else could he be called than Javert!?”

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you enjoyed this and it wasn't too terrible!  
> Please comment or kudos, it makes my day (really).


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